


Predator and Prey

by tristesses



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Blowjobs, Bondage, Edging, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sadism, The Force, fighting leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: Each of them is on the hunt, but only one will be prey.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



> In your letter, you wrote that you wanted "Rey drawing on that wild ferocity she had during the fight in the snow, hurting Kylo (f or m) and getting off on it. Letting a sadistic streak that terrifies her a little bit bubble to the surface. Kylo loves it, and hates how much (she or he) loves it," and I just had to write this! I loved all your prompts and I hope you enjoy this!

On space stations, aboard star destroyers, down in the sand of desert worlds or struggling to breathe in the thick atmosphere of an uninhabitable planet: this is where Rey and Kylo Ren meet. The location varies, but the battle never does. Sabers out, lashing at each other with the Force, sometimes from a distance and sometimes pressed close as lovers, they fight. Rey always aims to subdue; Ren, to kill. He fights unsteadily, Rey has discovered, full of fury and strength, his anger swinging wildly from target to target—first pointed toward Rey, then to his parents, then somewhere hidden deep inside his heart where she has yet to reach. He lacks focus. It makes him clumsy, his grip on the Force as violent and cracked as the kyber crystal in his lightsaber. If it weren't for that—

If it weren't for that, Rey might be dead now.

_Or maybe not,_ she muses, stepping lightly on the thick moss padding the jungle's floor. Kylo Ren has a— _fascination_ with her she can't explain, a desire for her that swings from murderous to longing within the space of a breath. She wonders sometimes what he'd even do with her if he beat her—take her to Snoke? Try to break her will and make her a pet? Just kill her? Rey doesn't know. She hates uncertainty.

The jungle here is thick with trees and the sound of wildlife, buzzing and shouting and cawing—so much life! She'd never have thought there could be this much noise in the world, back when she lived on Jakku. But this is not Jakku, and she's no longer the scavenger girl living in a downed AT-AT; she's a Jedi-in-training running an enemy to ground. Kylo Ren is somewhere in this forest, looking for her much like she's looking for him, but she's better at staying hidden and silent than he is. He's scanning for her along the bends and twists of a stream, one that will meet a mighty river soon. Rey closes her eyes, sensing her way with the Force, and works her way through the trees in silence, slipping between trunks and ducking under the vines sagging from the branches above. Her saberstaff is clutched in her hand, but she doesn't dare ignite it yet. She can sense him, a pulsing nexus of Force energy, beyond the next bend, barely hidden from view. Her blood pounds in her throat, a strange tightening in her belly as anticipation floods her mouth with saliva.

"There is no emotion," she mouths but doesn't say aloud. "There is only the Force."

The mantra doesn't work as well to settle her mind as it should. It never does when it comes to him.

She can feel the exact nanosecond he senses her, can practically see him whipping around, cape flaring, the soulless eyes of the mask seeking for her. And she gives him what he wants; she steps out of the shadows, gripping her saberstaff tight, and meets his gaze.

An inclination of the head, the bow of one duelist to another—or just a figment of her imagination? Uncertainty again. Her stomach flips and that sick anticipation is filling her head as he ignites his lightsaber and stalks towards her. The blue plasma blades of her saberstaff burst into being in response, and Rey steps forward into the fight.

Strike down—the blow is parried—dance backwards, accept his attack and defend, again and again—she's so _tired_ of defending herself against him—sweep the saber in from the side, aim for the ribs—Ren spins out of the way and engages one of her blades with a twist hard enough to nearly wrench the saberstaff from her hands. His lightsaber crackles angrily as she resists him, digging her heels in the ground and _pushing._ They're locked together, so close she can see the scars and dents on his helmet, close enough to feel the looming press of his body against hers; close enough that, if he were to take off the helmet, she could stare into his eyes and see if she could find any light there.

"Are you going to see sense this time, Rey?" he asks, his modulated voice strange and out of place among all this greenery. "There is so much passion in you, so much anger. Are you going to follow your heart and join the Dark Side?"

"Never," Rey spits, and drops into a crouch and rams her shoulder into the side with the old bowcaster wound, still a vulnerability of his; he grunts and stumbles, and she leaps back and sinks into a defensive position. "Are _you_ going to see sense and come home?" A snort, audible even through the helmet, as he stalks around her, apparently unmoved. Rey hesitates, grips her saberstaff tighter, and throws down the gauntlet.

"Your mother misses you, Ben."

Ren freezes, a black void among the shadows of the jungle. But he doesn't pause for long, and keeps circling her, searching for a fault in her defenses. Rey spins to face him, never letting him see any weakness in her stance. She's panting, now, sweat beading on her skin and dripping down her face; her arms are trembling from the effort of withstanding his attacks. He's the only one who can drive her to this point, these days. (She loves it. She doesn't even admit it to herself, but—she _loves_ it, the sweat, the pain, the fleeting rush of fear when his lightsaber singes her skin. The spike of sadism when she scores a blow on him and he stumbles back, gasping in pain, that sears through her like lightning and lights her up in ways she doesn't like to think about.)

"My mother," he echoes. "You're wrong. I have no mother. That woman belongs to Ben Solo, and he is _dead._ "

"Hardly," Rey snaps. " _Han_ is dead. You're still living, just—"

_Stubborn,_ she means to say, but she senses his intentions before he moves: he leaps into action and brings his lightsaber down in a killing blow. Her saberstaff sings as she brings it above her head to counter his strike. He springs back and resumes his circling. Rey holds her stance and tries to control the joy rising within her.

"And what about you, Rey?" he says, voice infuriatingly even behind the mask. "What about _your_ parents? Wouldn't you like to know who they are?"

She falters, just a little. If Ren knows—if he can tell her the truth—

He sees her weakness and pounces.

"I can find out where they are, Rey," he says coaxingly. "The Supreme Leader is wise. He can lead you to them if you simply join us."

What if— _what if—_

Rey lowers her saberstaff.

Then she feels it, a little worm in her mind, wriggling under her barriers and eroding her will: Ren, reaching into her mind and seeking out her weakest points.

_How dare he._

"No!" she screams, and shoves him out, violently enough to make him jerk and stumble. Ren falls back with a startled oath and Rey follows, both physically and mentally, kicking him in the hand and sending his lightsaber spinning out of his grip even as she bears down on his mind, a hammer blow of the Force knocking him flat and reaching deep within him. He cries out and tries to force her out, like she did to him so long ago, but she shreds his efforts and dives deeper. 

His mind is writhing snakes of anger, self-doubt, and fear; she identifies them all with disdain and reaches for his knowledge of her parents, _any_ knowledge of her past. Distantly, she thinks he's screaming. It hurts, having your mind ransacked like this. She knows from experience. She delves further and finds—nothing. Nothing about her parents, that is; she _does_ find a thread of something twisted and hot, something that feels like the anticipation that builds in her gut every time they fight. But in him, she recognizes it for what it is.

Lust.

_Oh._

"So that's what you want from me," she hisses. "I should have known."

She's straddling him, hands bunched up in his tunic; she must have shoved him down while he was too busy trying to protect his mind to stop her. She doesn't remember doing it. She gathers more of his clothes in her hands and shakes him. "Take off your mask."

She pushes with all her might behind the command, but they're too evenly matched, or so she thinks. Any other time, Ren would be fighting her order and winning. Instead, his hands rise, wobbling as he tries to force them to stay, and work at the latch of his mask. It slides off with a sound like an airlock opening, and then Rey is looking into the scarred, furious face of Kylo Ren. Sweat beads on his forehead and his eyes are locked onto hers as if caught in a tractor beam. He _is_ fighting it—mostly.

Something untwines within her as she stares him down, something hot and sleek, like that anticipation but with an edge as sharp as a blade. When he struggles, it's easy for Rey to reach out with the Force and pin his body to the jungle floor, surer than any restraints; he makes a noise that makes her wonder, something close to a whimper, and struggles against the pressure.

"No," she tells him, and bears down harder. She can see the tendons in his neck stretching tight as he fights it, but something is stopping him from throwing it off. That lack of focus again, the lack of will. Curious, Rey peers into his mind again and sees a ribbon of desire unfurling within him.

"Oh," she says, this time out loud. "Really? _Now?"_

The hot blade inside her—she won't call it lust, not for _him_ —cuts a little deeper when she sees the mingled shame and anger on his face. Slowly, Rey draws her hand back, then slaps him as hard as she can. Ren's head bounces back against the jungle floor and he snarls at her, twisting beneath her but failing to buck her off. A trickle of blood oozes down his lip, and Rey impulsively leans down and licks it up. His intake of breath and his shocked stillness are her reward.

Master Luke would not approve of this. This is not what a Jedi should do. This is not what _Rey_ should do. But she can taste his blood in her mouth and she _wants_ this, wants to destroy him, _break_ him. She wants him. She doesn't know what to think about that.

"Don't have much to say now, do you?" she says musingly, instead of looking within and examining her motives like she should. "Where'd all that go, about finding my parents?"

"The Supreme Leader," he says, and his voice fails. He can only stare at her as if transfixed by a vision. Rey sits back on him—and oh, when she moves her hips, she can feel just how interested he's become in this so-called fight—and studies his face. The scar is livid and red, his eyes dark but no longer soulless and empty; without the mask, he's just a person, vulnerable and wild. She squeezes his lip where the blood dripped, and watches more red liquid ooze out. No creature in a mask he; he bleeds like any other human.

"Yes?" she prompts when he doesn't go on, and drags her thumb through the blood.

"Rey," he whispers.

The heat uncurls in her groin and she thinks, _Yes._

"Fight me," she whispers, close to his ear, then leaps up and away from him the instant she removes the pressure pinning him down.

He comes for her whirling and furious, like the massive sand storms she remembers from her childhood, and just as destructive. His lightsaber smacks into his hand, summoned before he even stood up completely, and Rey laughs and slaps it away with the Force.

"Not like that," she says, and spreads her arms wide, inviting him closer. He should know better, but he's impulsive, uncontrolled. He barrels into her shoulder-first—Rey can barely feel the pain through the jubilation filling her like Corellian whiskey—and flings her to the ground, keeping his feet, but Rey's prepared for that; she hooks the hilt of her unlit saberstaff under his knees and pulls, making him crumple to the ground. They grapple there on the forest floor, wrestling like animals, tearing at each other's clothing, lashing at each other with the Force. He rips away the front of her shirt, leaving it open and dangling; his hands slide hot against her bare skin, caress her stomach, slide under her breast-band and pinch her nipples hard—he wants to hurt, not arouse, but it doesn't work. Lust flares inside her, and she only wants to hurt him _more._

_(What is she becoming?)_

Well, two can play at that game; with a gesture and a call to the Force, she tears apart his many layers of clothing and rakes her nails down his bare chest. They're short, suitable for hand-to-hand combat and working with machinery, but long enough to leave livid red marks on his pale skin. A whine from Ren, and he grabs her upper arms, twists beneath her and flips her on her back. There is one heart-stopping moment when she's pinned under his full body weight, hands scrabbling at his face. Then she seizes his jaw in her hand, nails digging deep, and kisses him hard and with teeth.

Ren freezes, and it's that easy to wriggle a foot beneath him, plant her heel in the ground, and flip him over. She doesn't stop the kiss, even when she tastes blood, and he doesn't push her away; he's gripping her waist, her hips, groping the firm curve of her ass, rubbing himself against her crotch like he's desperate already. He hasn't even begun to know the meaning of the word.

Her teeth on his neck; he gasps and arches against her while she bites and sucks. Out of his sight, she gestures once, and the vines come to life and crawl towards them. She snatches Ren's hands from her waist and pins them to the ground, letting the vines loop around Ren's wrists and ankles, splaying him flat. Then she sits back and surveys her prey.

"Look at that," she says placidly. "I won."

He's panting, glaring at her with murder in his eyes. Rey watches him, half her attention on sorting through the mess of conflicting emotions buried in Ren's mind, the other half fully concerned with his body. He's all but naked now, the mask discarded, his many layers of black fabric torn and fluttering. Vulnerable. Rey wants to torment him.

She rolls off him and to the side, kneeling beside him on the jungle floor. His thick cock is hard and leaking, flushed red against his skin. When he sees her looking at it, he actually bares his teeth and snaps at her. Anger flares and she slaps him again, then again, until her handprint stands out as red as his scar on his face and he's gone from looking murderous to— _afraid._ And she likes it. She likes it.

"Nothing to say?" she asks. He sneers at her, but there's nothing but bravado behind it. Rey touches his chest, trails her fingers down his ribs, covered with muscle. He's fit, in perfect fighting shape; no wonder he gives Rey such a workout whenever they meet. Down her hand goes, further down, until she wraps it around his cock. He makes a small whimpering noise, and Rey glances at his face: tight and panicked, the face of an animal without an escape route, but behind that lies a deep well of desire and longing.

"Has anyone ever touched you like this before?" she asks, curious, and he shakes his head shortly. Lust flares inside Rey when she realizes that he's letting her be the first; _letting_ her, yes, because he could have fought his way free by now, if he really wanted to. The vines are feeble compared to his power. She holds his gaze, lets her knowledge of this show in her eyes; Ren glares but his gaze is steady.

"What are you waiting for?" he snaps. Rey snorts.

"Not for _you_ ," she says, and leans over and spits on his cock before she slowly begins to stroke it.

Ren holds still for maybe thirty seconds—she's actually a bit impressed—but then she rubs her thumb around the crown of his cock and across the sensitive underside and he gasps and arches into Rey's grip.

Time for step two. She lowers her head and envelops him in her mouth.

This time, the noise Ren makes is nothing less than a cry, and he arches his hips, pressing into her mouth, and jerks on the vines restraining him as if he wants to touch her—which he won't get to do, not this time.

She's good at this; on Jakku, sex was nothing to be ashamed of, and she spent her snatched moments of free time having it with whatever humans or aliens she met who were interested in a mutual exchange of pleasure—she has practice. His cock is heavy and thick in her mouth. Rey swirls her tongue around the tip, lapping up the precome, before hollowing her cheeks and sucking. Ren whimpers, and she opens her mouth wider and sinks down, taking him to the hilt with the ease of long practice. His cock bumps against the back of her throat, then goes inside the tight ring of muscles; she's always wondered what that felt like from the other person's perspective. Judging from the noise Ren makes when she swallows, it feels quite good. Her tongue works around the shaft of his cock and she moves her head slightly, fucking her mouth with his cock, keeping her lips sealed around the base; Ren squirms in his restraints but can neither stop her or force her to move faster. He's swearing under his breath, impressively vile curses interspersed with her name (and it sounds good on his lips, she thinks). His muscles are starting to twitch and shudder; he'll climax soon, and Rey doesn't want that. She comes off him with a pop and leans back, smirking down at him.

"What—" He stares up at her with a truly stupid, dazed expression on his face, rapidly overtaken by betrayal. "You—you stopped."

"For now," Rey says, and takes him in her hand again.

This is Rey's favorite part of sex with any species: the exquisite tease as she draws her partner closer and closer to the edge, but denies them the burst of pleasure they so crave, over and over again until they break and start to beg. Rey likes it when they beg. She does the same with Kylo Ren, alternating between her hands and her mouth on his cock, licking up every drop of precome and reveling in every twitch and gasp he makes. His cock is swollen and nearly purple from all the teasing, and when she blows a cool stream of air across it, it jumps and he moans. Rey glances up at him; he's a certified mess, face flushed, lips bitten plump and ripe, hair mussed from all the writhing he's been doing. 

"Please," he whispers, voice breaking.

Time for step three.

Rey stands and hikes up her flowing robe, tugging off the pants she wears under it. She has to hop a little to get them completely off, but Ren doesn't laugh; he only stares as if he can't quite parse what's going on.

He figures it out when she straddles him and sinks down on his cock, though.

He lets out a groan and thrashes, tugging so hard on the vines that his tendons bulge, but they don't give and neither does Rey. She settles down on him, adjusting to the sweet sensation of something so thick and heavy inside her—it's been so long since she's had a proper fuck—and begins to grind her hips in a slow circle. She licks her fingers and puts them between her legs, rubbing her clit. This time, she's the one who moans.

"Rey," Ren gasps, " _Rey—_ "

"If you come before I do, I'm going to leave you here for the First Order to find you," she threatens, and to her shock, he only shuts his eyes and tries to bite back a moan. Curious, she dips into his mind again, and finds him thinking about that very scenario—about being found like this by a troop of stormtroopers, naked and recently fucked, _helpless,_ and what they might do to him now that their leader has been revealed as a shameful weakling—

"Well, aren't you imaginative," Rey murmurs, halfway impressed with the depth and breadth of his fantasies. She changes her rhythm from the grinding to a slow slide, in and out, shivering when she sinks back down on him and that thick cock of his slowly stretches her open. Her mouth is half-open, pleasure curling in her belly, the embers close to bursting into flame. Her hand between her legs is slippery with her own fluids and saliva, her fingers bumping over the hard nub of her clit without much coordination as her muscles begin to seize. She catches a glimpse of Ren's mind, his overpowering will turned not toward subduing her but to making sure he doesn't come—"You're being so good for me," she gasps, and he groans—and knowing that he's listening to her, _obeying_ her, is what ultimately tips her over the edge. 

When she clambers off him, legs twitching, he makes a sound of distress. She laughs at him.

"I'm tempted to leave you here," she tells him, "but I'm not _that_ cruel."

(She would be, if only she weren't hampered by her damned conscience.)

Instead, she kneels beside him again and takes his cock in her hand and licks it, her own fluids coating her tongue, then focuses on that oh-so-sensitive spot under the head of his cock; the constant licking of such a small, sensitive area is a torture and she knows it, knows it intimately. Rey licks and sucks and torments his cock until Ren, gasping and panting, says her name in a choked voice, and she knows. His body jerks as he comes, covering his torso in white stripes, face pulled into a rictus of pleasure. 

Rey leans back and admires her work, watching his body relax in his restraints as the last of the orgasm shakes through him. Then he opens his eyes, and Rey goes tense again. 

His gaze is full of hatred, and slightly mad. Rey knows that when he comes back to himself and breaks his bonds, she will die; punishment for the crime of making him weak.

Part of her welcomes that fight, thinks that with her secret viciousness, she might be able to win. The sane part of her, the one that's hung back in disgust during this entire fight and what followed, has a sense of self-preservation. Rey reaches out to Ren's mind with the Force and puts him to sleep with a touch.

She stands over his sleeping body and considers her next move. She could cart him to her shuttle, keep him under, and bring him home to his mother; she's confident in her ability to confine him, but she also knows that the General wants him home by his choice, not by force. She could kill him, thus effectively beheading the Knights of Ren and relieving Snoke of his most valuable Force user—but no, she can't do that, kill in cold blood like this, and how would she face the General and tell her she killed her only child? No, that's out. There is only one option here.

Rey releases the vines, drapes them around their trees again. She can't repair his clothing with the Force, but she can take the shredded remnants and tuck them around his body, preserving his modesty to some extent. And then she runs for the shuttle, knowing that if he wakes up before she's gone, she's in for a fight to the death—his or hers, she can't quite say.

As she accelerates out of the atmosphere, she glances through the window at the green bands of jungle wrapped around the planet. He's down there, somewhere, waking up even as she flies away. He'll be after her soon enough.

_Next time,_ she swears to herself, and to him. _Next time, I'm bringing you back._


End file.
